


For The Ones Who Could Live Forever

by kat_writes_stuff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colonialism, Death, Decapitation, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Historical Figures, Historical Hetalia, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hold Onto Ya Butts, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insomnia, Loneliness, Mental Health Issues, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Prisoner of War, Serious Injuries, This is so dark, Time Skips, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Violence, World War II, immortality is a b word, someone give this girl some milk, this fic is a lot darker than the previous one, would DC want this fic?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21616267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_writes_stuff/pseuds/kat_writes_stuff
Summary: We're starting her story from the top, but this time with more feeling.
Relationships: past Japan/Singapore (Hetalia), past Malaysia/Singapore (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. What's A New Beginning to Someone Who Can Never Die?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been putting off publishing this fic because I didn't think it was super interesting, but every comment and kudos from the last fic has propelled me to post it. So here it is, Enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and check out a moodboard I made for this fic here,
>
>> [ ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzUnuXwnoVQ/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading)
>> 
>> [ View this post on Instagram ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzUnuXwnoVQ/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading)
>> 
>> [for the ones who could live forever #moodboard](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzUnuXwnoVQ/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading)
>> 
>> A post shared by [ Cat](https://www.instagram.com/kait_tries_to_draw_stuff/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading) (@kait_tries_to_draw_stuff) on Jun 29, 2019 at 10:29pm PDT

She wakes up, ageless, sprawled across sand with the sun glaring into the eyes. 

She knows her name is Temasek. But nothing else.

The waves are licking her feet, and there's something cold tickling her knees. She sits up and stares at the lion nuzzling against her. The lion licks her knees once, and she can see the powerful muscles rippling beneath the creature's multicoloured fur as it bounded off into the looming jungles. She hears the birds singing in the foliage, insects chirping, the distant sound of something scampering about in the bushes. She hears the forest, and the forest is alive.

She gets to her feet, dusts the sand off her dove-white clothes with small, pudgy hands, and walks into the forest.

* * *

Temasek still doesn't know how old (or young) she is. She spends her days climbing trees, swimming in the ocean, sharing meals with the jungle animals, and arguing with the cackling hornbills.

She forms a strong bond with the lion, but she doesn't have a name for him so she just calls him 'Lion'.

They sleep together, eat together, do everything together.

Lion becomes her first family.

* * *

She has witnessed many sunrises and sunsets. 

Today, strange beings arrive on the island. They spot Lion first, and decided to come ashore to explore. Strangely, she can understand what they say and they introduce themselves as people from the neighbouring island. 

The leader is called Sang Nila Utama.

He feels important, like she should know him. 

They seem excited to see her, but they would not explain why. They did not explain where they were from, nor explain that the world was much, much bigger than she realised. They do, however, tell her that they wished to form a kingdom on the island.

She asks them what they wished to call it.

"We want to call you Singapura. 'Singa' means lion," They gesture to Lion, who is watching them warily from the shadows. They seemed even more pleased when they realised she was friends with him.

"And 'pura' means city. From today onwards, you are 'Singapura', not 'Temasek'."

So she stood there, nameless and ageless, before being bestowed a new name.

_Singapura_.

She doesn't ask why they refer to her as though she were the island.

* * *

Singapura says goodbye to her forest friends and enters a raging sea of politics.

She lives in a castle now, in a room with four walls and a ceiling. The thing they call a 'bed' sinks underneath her and feels uncomfortable, so she sleeps on the floor instead. Singa, the name she's decided to give 'Lion', takes the 'bed', and he enjoys the soft material immensely. 

There are more people on the island, and it fills Singapura with a sense of pride. Something she cannot quite explain.

Sang Nila is called Sri Tri Buana now. He changes his name with her. 

She doesn't like the castle.

* * *

Many sunsets later, there is a girl and boy in the castle.

Not one of the people living in the castle, nor a resident of the village. She has never seen them before. They dress in expensive looking robes, the women's hair is covered and their bodies seems to glow. Singapura sees them with a small group talking to Sri Tri Buana one afternoon.

The woman doesn't speak, but the man does, a lot. She's older than him. He's handsomer. There was something strange about them. Singapura felt connected to them, and something in her stomach tugged towards their direction.

The woman surveys the lavish throne room with cold eyes while the man continues chattering away, until they lock onto Singapura's. 

Singapura almost stumbles. In that moment, she realised she made a mistake. The woman's eyes weren't cold.

They were _burning_.

She doesn't like the girl.

* * *

It wasn't until Sri Tri Buana died did Singapura notice she was different.

While her first of many kings wasted away, she remained youthful. As the kingdom turned its reins over to a new rule, she remained the only person from the original court. 

She couldn't have been older than ten years, but she knew she has been living longer than that. 

Singa shares the same problem (should she call it that?). Ever since they met, he hasn't aged one bit. His muscles still ripple powerfully under his skin, and his love for soft beds hasn't changed.

Singapura feels very much alone.

* * *

There's something sobering about being near the ocean. It calls to her, whispers to her in a language only she can understand. On some days, the oceans are clear, and the surface would sparkle like shiny minerals. Even the colour of the ocean was nice to look at, sometimes blue-green, dark blue, light blue, and many other different variations of the colour.

Today, the ocean is wailing. Today the sea is stained a pretty crimson red.

Singapura shifts uncomfortably in the sand. There were grains of the stuff on her face that she couldn't rub off. She can't remember where the pirates left her body.

Her eyes drift to the other heads littered on the beach, grotesque, round things with flies and who knows what else circling around the dead meat. She should be dead too, but she isn't.

Singapura blows a maggot away and hopes that Singa could come and get her soon. 

* * *

_Scritch scritch scritch_

She reaches up to scratch herself again but the maidservant beside her slaps her hand before it could reach the accursed spot on her neck.

"Stop scratching! You'll undo it!" She scolds and Singapura nods her head meekly, turning away in embarrassment.

She can't help it, the stitches are just so damn itchy.

* * *

She learns the woman's name is Java. The man's name is Malaya.

A kingdom of Java, the Majapahit, grows restless with every good news of the island kingdom. They want Singapura -- the island -- to submit to their rule. No doubt, Java is behind it.

She throws a fit, right there in front of the new king, and swears to fight for her kingdom to be free. Anything to punch that smug woman in the face.

The king, already aware of her true identity, just smiles and pats her on the shoulder.

* * *

Traders set up homes in the island, they have different coloured skins, different cultures, different everything. They marry the women of the island and Singapura sees their offspring playing with the other children by the shore. She befriended some pale skinned traders from the village, they have smaller eyes and speak a different language.

In time, she learnt their strange language and conversed freely with them. They are amused by her tenacity and gift her some books from their faraway land. She glosses over those books every night in the castle, drinking in foreign knowledge. It fills her with curiosity, and always leaves her hungry for more.

She swears to her king that she will become the smartest person in the world.

He laughs and pats her on the head, promising her a lifetime supply of books if she became that.

* * *

She is older now. 

But no matter how old she is, she will always adore the stories that the village elders tell her. She longs for the day to meet Badang the strongman, to visit the place where the young prodigy Hang Nadim was killed and his blood turned an entire hill red, and she desperately wants to meet the Merlion.

The Merlion was the creature of her dreams. She wanted to explore the vast deep blue on the beast's back, feel the wind in her hair and the sea salt in her mouth as they swam to the furthest points of the ocean. The Merlion was as old as time, the elders said, and a truly powerful being.

She could understand it, and she felt that the Merlion could understand her too.

The Merlion was said to leave a stream of colourful water in its wake, an iridescent rainbow sheen that glittered like a thousand diamonds. Whenever she had a moment to herself, she would wander along the ocean's edge, keeping a close eye out for vibrant colours in the surface of blue.

* * *

There's a painting hung up in the throne room. It has the original family, Sri Tri Buana, his wife, children, and closest advisors.

It's the only thing that allows Singapura to see herself. She is small, practically a child, her clothes seem to big for her tiny body and her face looks solemn. They first time they hung it up, Sri Tri Buana had patted her on the head and smiled. She had continued staring at the painting.

Her eyes were burning too.

* * *

She is no longer allowed to go to the village.

The new king wants her to focus on her job. She doesn't question why he wanted a child to be engaged in politics, or ask why a child was in charge of ridding the Malayan sea from pirates.

Either way, she doesn't like the village anymore. The children throw rocks at her whenever she went there, she notices that many of the villagers close their doors when they see her walking past. The elders that once told her stories have all died, and no one was willing to read to her anymore. Only the new traders are willing to do business with her but they disappear back home in the end.

The locals point fingers, hiss threats, slink away, at her mere presence.

She tries not to feel hurt.

* * *

There is dirt in her eyes, rocks stabbing her feet, and her whole body _burns_.

Behind her, smoke rises into several pillars in the air. The acrid scent stings her nose and eyes but at least the screaming had stopped. The child stumbles through the forest blindly, a hand clamped over a wound across her left shoulder. She doesn't know where she's going.

Eventually, she stumbles out of the forest and sinks into the sand on her knees. She lands face first on the ground and doesn't get up.

A few minutes later, Singa comes trudging out of the forest. His fur is singed at the edges and there is blood all over his paws and jaws. He pads over to the unconscious child and drags her towards the ocean by her collar. He pulls his cub to the ocean until the sea is lapping at all sides of her body and her face is tilted in the direction of the sky.

He sits by her side, ignoring the water washing over his fur and paws, and waits for her to wake.

Seawater sizzles as it touches the wound and a tendril of mist twists and turns and disappears into the darkening sky.

* * *

She can't help the tears that go flowing down her face. She's in pain, so much more pain than when she had been decapitated, yet there's not a scratch on her body.

It's been days after the raiders attacked and ever since then, there's a sinking feeling in her chest, like a heavy stone lodged in between her ribs that's weighing her down. She's hiding out in the jungle until everything is settled, Singa doesn't leave her side.

It's not until she decides to sneak out and check on the village does she realise what was bothering her. 

The people are mourning. The skies are dark and somber, there's wailing in almost every house and the burnt down houses loom over the untouched ones. There wasn't a single person who had not lost someone.

Mourning. Singapura kneels beside a charred corpse lying amongst a pile of ashes. It was burnt beyond recognition, but the small stature and tiny build point towards a baby. An innocent life, lost to an act of hate and greed. Her heart aches beyond any pain she's felt, and she doesn't realise she's crying again until her teardrops form dark spots on the dead child.

She mourns for the child, for the people, her people, and for everyone lost in the vile act committed against her. 

Mourning. It won't be the last time she does it.

* * *

In due time, the island of Singapura would fall under the rule of the Sultan of Johor, with Malaya claiming sovereignty over Singapura.

This greatly annoyed her at first, but as the suns set and rose, as they've always done, she began to warm up to the loud, mischievous, laid back Malaya who now visits her on a semi-regular basis. They talk about Java over hand-picked coconuts, refreshing themselves with the fruit as they laugh themselves silly over funny stories concerning the standoffish woman. Sometimes their stories take a darker turn, with them discussing their past battles and kills, until one day, while they shared bananas under the shade of some palm trees, Malaya asks her about death.

"Death?" She furrows her eyebrows at Malaya.

"Yes. How many time have you died so far?"

Singapura has to close her eyes and think very hard before replying, "Eighteen times."

Malaya doesn't look surprised, "I guessed so. A tiny fishing village like yours wouldn't need to fight in so many wars. You should be lucky that you don't die so often." He says it with a strange bitterness, so unlike his usual cheerful self, as he rips another banana from the bunch and chows it down.

"How many times have you died, then?" Singapura questions.

A silence so piercing and uncomfortable greets her as Malaya stares off into the ocean. The waves lapped at the shore serenely, and the clouds in the sky framed the Sun as it shone down on the wide expanse of blue, twinkling back at the two of them like a sea of diamonds. The birds in the forest cawed and crowed, the buzz of insects pounded in Singapura's ear as she waited for Malaya's answer.

It was another few minutes before he replies, "Too many to count."

They continue eating, but the atmosphere had soured too much for anymore talking. Singapura wonders just how many more times she would have to die for her people.

* * *

She feels a sense of deja vu at the sight of men standing on the shore.

Unlike Sri Tried Buana, their skin were milky white and they dressed in clothes that looked uncomfortable and very frilly. They looked so foreign, so out of place.

But not the blonde one. Not his eyes. They were as green as the bushes Singapura was hiding in, but they burned all the same.

He surveys the beach with his burning eyes, until they land right on Singapura. He does a double-take, and the tugging towards his direction in Singapura's gut intensifies.

They stare at each other, silently challenging each other to make the first move.

But before either of them could react, the brown-haired white man beside the blonde one notices her. His eyes widen and a smile graces his face as he walks up to Singapura, ignoring the blonde one's protests, and kneels to meet her eye-to-eye. His face is much more friendly, more open. The words that tumble out of his mouth with feverish excitement are words Singapura could understand, words that she didn't think a foreigner would have been keen to learn. The man introduces himself as Sir Stamford Raffles and he asks her if she's seen a man, white like them, with a tulip sticking out of his breast pocket.

Singapura shakes her head. She had been trying to avoid foreigners on her island, keyword being _'had'_. A troubled expression crosses Raffles's face and he turns to say something to the blonde man in a different language.

The blonde man, who Singapura then realises has the largest eyebrows she has _ever_ seen, says something back to Raffles. But he keeps his distance from them.

Sir Stamford Raffles nods and turns back to Singapura with a smile.

He begins to tell her an elaborate plan all about smuggling Tengku Long back to Singapura after he had been exiled, something about making him Sultan, something about _paying_ him _and_ the Temenggong, of all things, just so these strangers could build a port in here.

She wants to say no. She wants to tell these foreign men that her people has had enough of foreigners coming to their island and disrupting the peace and serenity of their village. She wants to tell them about the Portuguese raiders and how their act of pillaging had completely destroyed their island. She wants to tell them about the charred and burnt body of the baby.

Raffles cocks his head to the side, confused by the solemn look of the child in front of him.

The blonde man stands still under the darkening sky. His black shoes and black hat and black coat ripple around him like an eternal shadow as he stares, silent, contemplative, emotionless.

Waiting.

Despite her doubts, Singapura says yes to them anyways.

* * *

For some reason or another the plan works, and Singapura, now christened Singapore, begins to undergo a new experience as she helps Sir Stamford and his entourage of explorers create a modernised Singapore. The blonde one, Mr England, as Sir Raffles informed her, makes his excuses and leaves before Singapore could get to know him better.

When she asked the first Resident of Singapore (she still can't get used to calling herself that), where Mr England was going, Lieutenant Farquhar merely waved her off, "Mr Kirkland has far more important business to attend to than to play house with you. Why don't you go and check up on the new traders that arrived yesterday? Seeing as your the only one who can communicate with them."

Singapore pursed her lips at his curt response and bit back a mean retort. She left to check up on the traders anyways.

She had the feeling that it would not pay well to mess with the white men.

* * *

The man with the tulip is here.

And frankly, Singapore thinks he looks ridiculous.

His hair is swept all up and resembles the flower sitting in his breast pocket, or maybe a thorn. He smokes a pipe with an annoyed expression on his face as he argues with Mr England in the house Mr England had ordered to be built. The house is nice, much nicer than the room Singapore stayed in when she still lived in the castle. It was a black and white house built on stilts, similar to those in the kampong except this house was much bigger. It had a room for herself, and a room for Mr England. Why he wanted to live in the same house as her, she'll never know.

Currently, the man with the tulip and Mr England were discussing something in the large room with the soft chairs. Singapore made a mental note to ask Mr England what the English word for it was. She pressed herself up against the wall of the hallway, listening in on their conversation.

"...know full well that Singapore is under the Sultan of Johor, which is under me, _England_." The man snaps and Singapore can hear him take another deep inhale from his pipe.

"Old habits die hard, _Netherlands_. Know that I won't let you get the upper-hand on me this time."

"Aw, does the Great Empire where the Sun never sets feel threatened?"

"I have half a mind to kick you off my island right now."

"But you won't. And know that it won't be _your_ island much longer. On the other hand, since you insist on remaining stubborn towards your occupation of Singapore, why don't you just give me Malacca? I can't promise that my boss will be happy about that but I for one- "

"You never do stop looking for a way to weave a deal into one of these things, do you? You know, I think it's time you _do_ leave, Netherlands." A silence stretches across the house.

There's the sound of someone standing up, "You know you'll regret this, don't you?" 

"I don't think I will. You know where the door is."

Heavy footsteps are heard and before Singapore could react, Netherlands was standing in the hallway. He curses something under his breath and lights a match, using it to light the end of his pipe. He breathes it in, and exhales heavily. Then he turns, and sees Singapore staring at him.

She sees the scar on his forehead. She smells the foul-smelling smoke that clouds the hallway and Singapore's mind. She sees two olive coloured eyes smouldering at her through the haze before Netherlands brushes past her and exits the house. He doesn't utter a single word, but the tension and silent fury that boiled off of him was enough to make Singapore run into her room and slam the door shut.

She doesn't come out for a few days.

* * *

Modernisation sweeps Singapore off her feet and for the first time since the Portuguese raiders arrived with death trailing in their wake, the island feels _alive_.

Trade is flourishing in the Malayan seas with the inclusion of the tax-free port that Singapore has. It makes her proud, when she walks by the river that winds into the island, as she surveys the endless stream of boats and ships coming in from the outside world. Everywhere, the island is filled with life. So many faces, so many hues of skin, and so so _so_ many new languages. She hears them now, as she walks past the pier, countless of foreign phrases and words tossed together in the ocean air with the cries of sea birds looking for an easy meal from the morning fishermen. Singapore laughs to herself as her feet scruff up the newly-lain brick roads.

Horses neigh on the streets, chauffeuring rich folk to their destination. Chickens cluck in their cages as people of all races and ages walk along the bustling roads, dogs bark excitedly as they play with the children on the streets, tiny groups with their made-up games and made-up names, playing without a care in the world. The sharp and thunderous noises from construction as they prepared to build more houses for the people coming in was music to Singapore's ears, more alluring than the sounds of wind whistling through the once serene jungle.

She had been sad at first, to see her beloved jungles be cut down to build houses. But now she knows better, Mr England had told her it was the right thing to do.

Even the ache in her joints and body feels right. Mr England said it was because of how fast the island was progressing, and how the state of the country could change a nation's appearance. She had asked if that's why he was so tall. Something that could have been a smile had crossed his face but he had shooed her out of the house before she could take a closer look.

The sun is shining down on her, as it has done for the past 600 years, and Singapore wishes it could stay like that forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There weren't actually any lions back then, what Sang Nila and his advisors probably saw was a tiger! The Kingdom of Singapura was founded in 1299, so happy 720 years of existence Singapore! In modern times, Singapore likes to tell people she was a princess (technically she was), but no one believes her.
> 
>   
> Singapore and Indonesia have a very rocky relationship IRL so I like to characterise their relationship as being cats and dogs, with Singapore being a cat and Indonesia being a dog (ironic i know)
> 
>   
> And Malayan pirates were scary as shit back then! They would decapitate people's heads and put them on the beaches of islands to let foreign sailors know that they were sailing onto pirate turf.
> 
> And Portuguese raiders did end up burning down the settlement on Singapore, which gives Singapore her first ever permanent scar. The island sank into obscurity for the next 200 years before being discovered by white people (sound familiar?).
> 
>   
> Stamford Raffles actually knew Malay and could converse with locals, which I thought was funny for a white guy, and despite colonialism he was actually kind of decent? Farquhar was not, which we will explore in the next chapter.
> 
> (Also, Netherlands is a scary scary old dutch man. Singapore had nightmares about him for a while.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos, comments, and criticism appreciated! See you soon!


	2. Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum (If You Want Peace, Prepare For War)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to look at this anymore, therefore it is DONE. Sorry for the slow updates, life's been kicking my butt. I changed the formatting for this chapter so that it's easier to read and so that you don't have to scroll too much. Thanks for your patience! Enjoy the chapter.

"Singapore, have you thought of a name for yourself yet?" England asked over the rim of his teacup.

Singapore's hand froze mid-way to her mouth. "What?"

England rolled his eyes, "A name, Singapore. You cannot be going around telling people that your name is 'Singapore'. They would either die from shock or laugh at you first." He snorted at his own joke, which wasn't even that funny.

Singapore put the burnt scone back onto the silver platter. "But I already like the name Singapore."

"That's not the point," England leaned forward until his green eyes were staring directly into Singapore's brown ones, "Us nations require an alias to go by if we want to pass off as humans in the real world. If humans knew of our powers and who we were, well, not all of them are as welcoming as they are now."

Singapore thought about the villagers, all those years ago when they threw stones at her and told her to go away. Had they been afraid of her?

"But... Mr Raffles knew who you were."

"Yes, because he is part of the government. Sang Nila knew who you were, did he not?"

Singapore nodded slowly, still unsure.

"See what I mean. Back to the subject of names, is there any particular one you would like to adopt?" He leaned back into his chair and lifted his tea cup again.

Singapore shook her head. She bowed her head, in deep thought. It was a few minutes later when she spoke again, "My first king, Sang Nila, he spoke of a man that he was a desce- descedi- des-"

"Descendant." England said.

"Yes. He said he was a descendant of this man. The man was a great man, a man feared by many. He was from a far away country, far far away from where we are now. They say the man traveled from east to west and had fought and defeated many strong enemies. He also put up a wall, but I don't know why. Some called him a conqueror. Sang Nila said that he was drawn with the horns of a ram on his head," Singapore put two index fingers on her head for emphasis.

"They called him 'The Two-Horned Man' in the Quran, because he was sturdy like the ram." She let her hands fall to her lap, "I think his name... the one they don't use in the Quran... it's something like..."

She looked up at England with eyes that were both young and old at the same time, "Alexander, I think."

At that point, England had long forgotten his tea. He stared at the child sitting opposite him, the child who was blinking up at him in such a naive and innocent manner as if she hadn't just told him that her king had been related to one of the most feared and renowned Greek conquerors in the world. England pursed his lips as he studied the girl. England had been alive for a long time, he knew what a soon-to-be prosperous and progressive country looked like. And Singapore was no exception. She had taken to learning new languages like a duckling to water and her prowess in haggling at the market would make her a fearsome business woman one day. Singapore was smart, almost too smart, and despite being over 600 years old she had continued to retain that child-like innocence that England had so dearly missed.

England wondered, in due time, if that child-like innocence would be replaced with a musket being lifted to his face.

Singapore cocked her head to the side. "Mr England?"

Jerked out of past memories, England shook his head.

"My apologies, I don't know what came over me." He said, somewhat testily.

"And we can't name you Alexander, my dear, that is a boy's name." He said quickly, hoping to change the subject.

He picks his tea cup up again. The slightest of tremors passes through England's hand as he directs his next question at the child, "But I quite like the name Alexandria, what do you think?"

* * *

  
  


There’s a new sensation buzzing in the air. Singapore isn’t quite sure what it is.

She sees it in the way the hawker ladies hiss and gossip among each other in harsh, almost angry whispers, she sees it in the way certain people avoided certain houses as though it was snake venom, and she sees it in the way coolies entered said houses, only to emerge hours later in a cloud of white smoke, dazed but smiling.

Eventually, Singapore was able to sneak into one of these houses. Before she had been forcefully shoved out of the door by a brick-faced coolie, it felt as though she had stepped into a terrifying new world.

Gaunt, skeleton-like figures lay on straw mats in the house, enveloped in a haze of white smoke that stung Singapore’s nose and threatened to choke her. Half-empty bottles littered the ground, the smoke within the house so thick that Singapore could barely see what they contained. None of the residents reacted to the sudden intruder, resuming their statue-like states. Singapore had watched, rooted to the ground, as one of the skeletons placed a long black pipe to his lips, inhaled, and exhaled a plume of the same white smoke that made Singapore’s spin and her stomach churn.

Before she could speak or do anything, a hand grabbed the back of her collar and yanked her out of the smoke and into the street. 

She looked up from the ground just in time to hear the stoic coolie grumble at her to go home before he slammed the door of the house in her face.

The trip home was long and slow as conflicting thoughts gnawed at Singapore’s brain. Disgust rose in her chest as she thought back to how the smoke had caused the coolies to look like _that_. They looked worse than death, and for Singapore that was saying a lot. Morbid curiosity also gnawed at her, what exactly had they been smoking? How did it get to her port? Where did it come from? But more importantly, she found herself wondering, did Mr England know about it?

It seemed likely, considering how upset he had been at Sir Farquhar a few days ago. Maybe he had something to do with it.

Worse of all, she realised, was how much she wanted to be back in the smoke.

It was horrible inhaling the smog, it had been overwhelming and filthy and her lungs felt like they were still caked in its disgusting residue.

  
  


But God, she had never felt so alive.

  
  


With shame and embarrassment burning deep in her gut, Singapore quickened her pace and wondered how she was going to keep this experience a secret from her bosses.

* * *

“I don’t want you to go.” Singapore blurted out.

Startled, England whipped around to see Singapore standing by the doorway, clad in her cotton pajamas with a downcast look splashed across her face. 

After the whole fiasco with Farquhar and the opium dens and gambling, the man having legalised both despite it being considered a ‘social evil’ by Raffles, England had decided it was high time he return back to Great Britain where things were simpler and the company was better. He would have been on his way home that night, if it wasn’t for Singapore.

England sighed internally. He had hoped that Singapore would have been fast asleep whilst he made his way to the pier. Behind him, the horse carriage rider tapped his feet impatiently, unhappy to be kept up so late at night.

“I have to, Singapore. I have very important business to deal with. You cannot expect me to stay here forever, now can you?” He said.

“But…”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve left you alone. You have to learn how to take care of yourself now. I can’t be here for you all the time.” England chided.

She stood there, silent, before nodding meekly, wringing the hem of her nightshirt in her tiny hands. Through the darkness, England saw something glimmering in her eyes.

Great.  He made her cry.

Sighing heavily, England hopped off the horse carriage and slowly made his way towards the girl. He knelt down to meet Singapore’s gaze before patting her shoulder.

“Come on now, that’s not going to solve anything.” He murmured, continuing to awkwardly pat her. Singapore sniffled quietly, but didn’t say anything.

“Look, you won’t even notice I’m gone. Time is different for us, remember? I’ll be back before you know it.” Singapore nodded slowly.

“In the meantime,” England stood up. “I expect you to continue writing your weekly reports, you know where to send them to, yes?” She nodded again.

“Good.” He paused, before ruffling her already messy hair.

“Chin up, Singapore. You’re stronger than you realise.”

With that, he got back on the carriage, and within seconds the carriage disappeared into the night.

Singapore stayed on the porch. Despite his advice, she still felt empty. There was no warmth in England’s words.

* * *

England had been wrong.

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into years. Loneliness had slowed down the passage of time, and everyday felt agonisingly long to Singapore.

Last she heard from her guardian, he had signed a treaty with Netherlands, and were on good terms now. England’s letters were always so short, so formal.

With only Singa for company, the big house she lived in just felt as cold and as void as her heart.  Not even Malaya, who had been put under England’s rule same as Singapore, could cheer her up anymore,

“Listen, little sister,” he had said as he rocked languidly on a hammock, “Forget about that awful man. He has done nothing good for you, and you shouldn’t take orders from him anymore.”

“That’s not true!” Singapore shot back, grumbling as she tossed another rock at a banana tree. “He has done so many things for me. My island has so many people now, we have so much more money than before!”

Malaya snorted. “Trust me, all the white men do is lie and steal. China tells me that England is giving him trouble, as always. Java has her hands full with her coloniser, she hates him, you know.”

“I don’t _want_ to hate Mr England.”

“Are you even listening to yourself, little sister? Since when have you started calling people ‘Mr’ ?” 

Malaya looked over the hammock to face Singapore. He had grown taller, and if Singapore dared to say so, more handsome. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, it was clear that being under England’s rule had brought some benefits to Malaya.

“The sooner he leaves us countries alone, the better. Just you wait, when you’re not paying attention he’ll make his move and show how much of a snake he is.” Malaya said, and the conversation had ended there.

Singapore didn’t want to believe it. But she also didn’t think she had much of a choice.

* * *

Taller. She got taller again. Tall enough now that she could touch the top frame of the door if she jumped.  And she’s met many new people since England’s last visit, when she had been smaller and younger. 

China was an enigma in the flesh, so old but youthful at the same time. He seemed cold at first, but eventually warmed up to Singapore after they had traded cooking recipes. She had to literally pry him off Singa because he would not stop petting him.  India was friendly and open, but his eyes would darken momentarily whenever England was mentioned and he would become distant and solemn. The tea he brought over from his home was a welcome addition to Singapore’s kitchen.  Spain was an unusual case as well, very jovial and talkative, but there was a steely look in his eyes whenever Singapore discussed her economic growth. She wasn’t sure how to feel about him yet.

She didn’t want to talk to Portugal. Not after what the raiders did.

However, he did bring one of his colonies along with him on his visit, a calm and collected nation called Macau. Macau was unlike any nation Singapore had met. He had been friendly and polite and had been an absolute gentleman towards Singapore that it almost made her blush. He knew the different terms when it came to business and was clearly a connoisseur in the art of making money through trade. It almost made Singapore jealous.

Almost.

* * *

_ Dear Singapore, _

  
  


_ I am writing ahead to tell you that I am bringing your brother over to visit you. His name is Australia. He is younger than you and quite exhausting, so be prepared. I trust everything is well on your side. _

  
  


_ Regards, _

_ England _

  
  


For the first time in a while, Singapore felt excitement buzzing through her veins.

A younger brother! Someone to boss around, tease, and most importantly, play with. To hell with England and his weekly reports, Singapore wanted to be a kid again.

And so she waited with bated breath for England to arrive with her brother. In the meantime, she busied herself by day dreaming about what kind of a person he would be.

Dark skinned? Light skinned? England had called him exhausting, was he the mischievous sort like Malaya? Did he have green eyes, blue eyes, or brown eyes? Was he short? Tall? Singapore didn’t know how she would feel if he was taller than her, it would be unusual for the older of the two to be the shorter one.

And his name, Australia. It sounded so foreign, so exotic. She started saying it around the house to nobody but herself just because she enjoyed the way it rolled off her tongue. It was a name she wouldn’t get tired of calling. Eventually she had to stop saying it because Singa had started to get annoyed with her, but it did little to diminish her excitement.

Days passed, and Singapore opened the front door one sunny afternoon to find England standing on the other side. 

He was wearing a black, three-piece tailcoat and positively sweating. A jolt of feverish exhilaration shot through Singapore as her eyes landed on the boy standing next to him. He had tanned skin, like he had been out in the sun for a very long time, as well as flyaway light brown hair with two strands poking out just above his forehead. His eyes were a paler shade of green than England’s, and an adhesive bandage decorated the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows were the same thickness as England’s, which was worrying for Singapore who never wanted to share that trait with her guardian.

He was also a head shorter than her. Thank God for small mercies.

“Good afternoon Singapore, you look well.” England said, in a voice that was too cheery for his own good. 

“As promised, I have brought along a visitor. Meet your newest family member, Australia.” He stood to the side to let the two siblings exchange greetings.

The boy stuck his hand out first, “G’day, I’m Australia. But you can call me Oz, or Jett, whatever ya fancy. Who’re you?”

She reached forward, brimming with excitement, and grasped his outstretched hand, shaking firmly. “Singapore. Or Alexandria. Whichever you like.”

They let go of each other and England immediately cut in, “Right! Now that the two of you have met, Singapore, my dear, could you kindly put the kettle on and make us some tea?”

A strange way of saying sorry after being gone for fifteen years but Singapore wasn’t going to say anything. 

“Of course.”

She turned around and walked towards the kitchen, silently listening as England chided Australia for trying to enter the house with his shoes on.

Singapore smiled.

This little brother was going to be a lot of fun to mess with. 

* * *

When it was first founded, the island of Singapore only had the local children to wreck childish havoc against the adults.

Now they had Alexandria and Jett.

Within less than a week, the two had forged a bond stronger than the tribulations of time itself, only further strengthened as they tried to outdo each other in the little competitions they thought up. Who could climb a tree the fastest, who could drink the most coconut water before throwing up, who could put as many bugs into strangers’ clothing before being found out, so on so forth. 

They were as thick as thieves. And as sneaky as them too.

They made up games with each other, playing and running around the fields and forests until their bones ached and their sides hurt from laughing, carefree and reckless in their endeavours.  Singapore hadn’t felt this unburdened in years. Everyday felt like being a fly climbing the tallest mountain of sugar. They shared so much in common, from loving the outdoors to preferring animals to people, it was almost like they were made for each other.

The day her newfound brother had to leave, she was devastated. Singapore begged England to take her with them but he had refused.

“Australia has many more countries to visit and we are running behind schedule,” the Englishman had said as he packed his bags, “I’m glad that the two of you have gotten along, but we have other things to attend to now. You can’t expect him to stay here forever.”

“Maybe when you’ve grown you can visit each other, but right now-”

“And just _when_ will that be?” Singapore snapped. “Every time you leave me you act like everything is fine and tell me I shouldn’t be sad, but in the end I’m still the one staying behind while you go out and actually do things!”

Both nations’ eyes widened. Singapore, realising what she had done, snapped her jaws shut and backtracked until her back hit the door.

England’s eyes were burning.

“Mr England, I’m so-”

“If this is the behaviour you’ve chosen to exhibit, after everything I've done for you, perhaps it's best that the two of you _stay_ apart.”  Slamming his suitcase shut, England pushed past Singapore, who shrank back, and left the room.

Alone in the room, Singapore sank to the floor, letting silent tears roll down her cheek, listening to the click clack of England’s heels as he abandoned her for the third time.

* * *

One month since Australia left Singapore.

They’ve resorted to writing letters to each other in order to maintain contact. But with Australia still on the expedition to meet every British colony with England, it was likely he would not be able to read Singapore’s letters anytime soon.

But she still kept writing.

* * *

“Big sister, I have a question.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you like Mr England?”

Singapore looked up from the curry she was stirring to stare at her curly-haired little brother. Barely a head taller than her waist, little New Zealand was the newest addition to England’s ever-growing empire. An anxious boy, quite unlike his neighbour Australia, New Zealand was the sort of child-nation you could see growing up to become a well-rounded and polite nation.

“My relationship with Mr England is… complicated.” It had felt a lot easier to say it in her head.

“Why did you ask?” She changed the subject.

“Oz says Mr England is a no good drongo and a bloody bludger who only steals our money for himself and kills our native people.”

Singapore blinked once, slowly.

“He also said that he’s a massive cu-”

Singapore slammed the lid over the pot, scaring New Zealand and Singa who had been napping peacefully in the corner of the kitchen.

“I think that’s enough talking to Jett for you, sayang.” She sighed as New Zealand tipped his head sideways like a confused puppy. Singa just glared at the two of them from his corner as Singapore quickly herded her brother out of the kitchen..

* * *

The strange opium dens that littered the city seem to be disappearing.

There are a small handful of dens still in operation, but many of the buildings that once served as dens of iniquity were boarded up and closed. No doubt due to the Opium Wars occurring across the sea, far far away from Singapore’s home.

She can’t tell if it’s a good thing, or the opposite.

* * *

A new brother, a new colony for the ravenous British Empire.

Hong Kong was also a quiet sort of boy, but very very bright. He would grow up to be a very successful and wealthy nation. 

He’s stayed over at Singapore’s house a few times since he was ceded over to England, and every night, without fail, he would crawl into her bed in the middle of the night to sleep with her because he feared the dark.  He even slept like a child, with a hand curled under his body and the other gripping Singapore’s clothes.

Often, in those dark nights, Singapore would lie awake in bed and watch the steady rise and fall of Hong Kong's breathing, wondering if she had ever been as small as him. It felt like ages ago when she still lived as an island girl, completely unburdened and care-free.

She dimly wondered if she was growing up too fast. Maybe she was. Regardless, would anyone care?

* * *

There’s a knock on the door.

“Just a minute!” Singapore yelled. She set her book down, a thick paperback about a scientist and his monster, and made her way to the door.

It’s been a while since she’s had a visitor. The only person she knew who was dropping by today was Ming from down the road with his wares and Ahmed with the daily news. Maybe England was popping by for a surprise visit.

She turned the door knob, pushing it open, “Mr England, I wasn’t expecting you until-”

The man standing at the door was, in fact, not England.

At the door stood a strapping young man, with flyaway brown hair and sparkling green eyes. An adhesive bandage sat on the bridge of his nose, and as he grinned at Singapore, a mouthful of pearly white teeth glimmered back.

Singapore’s eyes widened, and it felt like an eternity before the man spoke.

“G’day, Alex.” Australia waved, still smiling. “Long time no see, eh?”

* * *

Miserably, Singapore wondered if all adult interactions in the future would be this awkward.

Despite the numerous letters they have sent to each other, the mischievous Australian had failed to include in any of his letters that due to the sudden discovery of gold in his country, little brother Australia was no longer little and had grown to be even taller than Mr England. The clothes he wore seemed a size too small, and Singapore could see his muscles bulge underneath the fabric. It made her blush, but she ignored it.

“England piss you off yet?” Australia asked, sounding almost hopeful. He seemed oddly reluctant to drink his tea. 

“So-so. Depends on what he does. You?”

Australia made a face. “Once an arsehole, always an arsehole. I can’t wait till I’m independent, maybe I’ll finally be able to escape him.”

“It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“It’s bad, alright. Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about it since you’re such a perfect angel in his eyes.”

Torn between oddly flattered and exasperated, Singapore added,” Well, what did you do to piss him off this time?”

“Nothing! He’s not pissed at me, or more so than usual, but you can see it in his eyes, he doesn’t like being around me.” Australia scoffed, idly tracing the rim of his tea cup.

“Well, maybe if you were nicer to him he wouldn’t be so angry at you all the time.” Singapore said.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s not that. He just sees me as that stupid Yankee, that’s all.”

“Ever since the gold rushes I’ve grown bigger, yeah? Well, now the bloody cunt’s scared of me, thinks I’m gonna revolt like his precious first-born.” 

‘First-born?”

“Yeah. America’s his first-born. Not first-born as in his first son but first-born as in his heir. He was supposed to be Arthur’s favourite.” There was definite bitterness in his words as he scowled.

“Now nobody is.”

The conversation then drifted to the tensions brewing between Britain and China over opium again as well as the anti-catholic riots that happened a few weeks back in Singapore, but it was clear that Australia was no longer in the mood to talk.

“Are you going to be in town for a while?” Singapore decided to change the subject.  “I still have that spare room upstairs. If you want to stay, that is.” 

Australia shook his head. “Sorry mate, just dropped by to see you for a while, I’m actually en-route to Indonesia. Got some business to do.”

“Oh.”

“It was nice seeing you though!” He placed both hands on her shoulder.

“Really.” His smile was bright and his cheeks just barely flushed. “I missed you a lot.” 

Australia gave her a hug, one that momentarily squeezed all the air and sadness out of her system, before leaving.

Singapore sighed, watching his back disappear down the road. She turned to Singa who was also watching Australia.

“Guess it’s just you and me again, huh?” Singapore said.

Sensing his cub’s sadness, Singa nuzzled up against her purring softly. They sat on the porch and watched the sun set, alone, just like they’ve done for hundreds of years.

* * *

Sometimes Singapore will wake up in the middle of the night, walk to the ocean, and ask the dark waves washing onto shore if she’s good enough to be England’s favourite.

She’s never gotten an answer. Not yet at least.

* * *

Singapore thinks she’s got her answer when England invites her to his home country to meet the Queen. This was because after years under the British East India Company, Singapore had officially become a crown colony and would be directly ruled by England. But after the painstakingly long trip there, she realised that Malaya had been invited too.

“Ugh.” Malaya tugged at his collar, trying to loosen the iron grip around his throat.

“Why do westerners insist on wearing such frivolous clothing? It’s so annoying.” Next to Singapore,  Malaya was itching in anticipation to finally leave this godforsaken island. Everything from the smog to the lily-white residents of England was pissing him off. The gawking didn’t help either.

Singapore didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t agree (She did. She really did.) but because they were standing literal meters away from the Queen of Britain herself, and if England's words were correct, she was quite the formidable woman.  Singapore still didn’t know where she stood in her relationship with England. Australia had said England’s supposed bastard of a first-born had disowned him, which meant the position reserved for England’s favourite was now unoccupied. Singapore wanted to be the one to occupy it.

So after the ceremony was over, she ditched Malaya and sidled up to England.

“Mr England! Thank you so much for inviting me here, her majesty is _truly_ an inspiration.” Singapore gushed. England waved her off, but couldn’t hide the smug grin on his face.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. It was about time you became Crown Colony, your work has been nothing but excellent. Her majesty was very impressed by how diligent you are. If only your _brother_ ,” the two turned to watch Malaya who was busy scarfing down pastries with the elegance of a caveman. “Had your enthusiasm for work.”

Singapore didn’t know how to feel about England putting down Malaya to praise her but she nodded anyways, anything to get into England’s good books.

“I must admit, you’ve grown a lot since we first met, what, fifty years ago? Time really flies, eh?” England shook his head, chuckling softly.

“But really, my dear,” his voice softened as he smiled at Singapore with a smile that sent her heart racing.  “I’m proud of you, Alexandria. I hope you’ll grow up to do good things in the future. In fact, I _know_ you will.”

Had England always had flecks of gold in his green eyes? Had he always had such long eyelashes?

The faintest glimmers of amusement twinkled in England’s eyes as he tipped his hat to Singapore and walked off. Singapore watched him walk away, feeling something she couldn’t describe churn and froth in her guts. It was seconds later when she realised that her face was growing hotter and hotter by the minute, and when she glanced at her reflection in a mirror her face was flushed pink.

Why had she gotten so worked up over what England had said? Her heart was still pounding away in her chest, and her palms remained sweaty no matter how many times she wiped them against her frilly dress. 

It was embarrassing. Her flustered state made it seem as though she was in love with--

Oh.

Oh _no._

* * *

Now when she stands on the beach at night, she’ll ask if England likes her back.

Only the wind whistling past her and the sound of waves crashing on the shore are her answer.

It’s the only answer she’s ready to hear right now.

* * *

The year is 1915.

And it feels like everything in the world is going wrong.

They were in their second year of the Great War, and though she was blessed to not be directly involved in the conflict in Europe, Singapore couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen.

She got her answer on the 15th of February when British Muslim soldier revolted against their British officers, after rumours spread that they were to fight their Muslim counterparts in Turkey. 

6 people were dead already.

Singapore tried, by God she tried, but despite countless negotiations, the soldiers refused to budge and the mutiny continued. Almost a week’s worth of rioting had passed, and still, Singapore could only stand and watch as innocent blood seeped into the pavements on the road and into the earth.

She couldn’t turn to anyone. How could she, when her problems were minuscule compared to what was happening in Europe?

She couldn’t turn to her family. Malaysia and Indonesia had their hands full with England and Netherlands’ troops, they would be too busy to deal with such a small problem. Siam and Vietnam were off fighting a foreign man’s war, and so was India.

She couldn’t turn to England. She wasn’t going to turn to England. Singapore’s cheeks flushed at the mere thought of him and she chided herself for her childishness. England was still clueless about her feelings for him, and she wanted it to be kept that way. There was no point in sending a letter to him when he could be valiantly fighting off Germans at the very moment. No need to disturb him now, or ever.

Singapore leaned against a wall, massaging her eyes. She really should be outside right now trying to quell the soldiers’ rioting, not in her house dawdling. Time waited for no woman, neither did bloodshed.

Singapore took in a deep breath, desperately trying to draw energy from her thoughts. She thought of the war in Europe, of England bravely holding back fleets of German soldiers on his own, of Siam and Vietnam and India fighting with the strength of one hundred lions for a battle that wasn’t theirs. If they could fight a war, surely Singapore could fight a battle.

Singapore exhaled.

“You can do this.” She said as she flung the door open.

  
  


...Only to be greeted by a familiar face.

  
  


Australia perked up at the sight of Singapore, secretly relieved that he didn’t have to knock. “Hey, Alex-”

Before the words could finish leaving his mouth he was yanked in with surprising speed, the door slammed shut behind him.

“ _Woah!_ Alex, what are you-”

Singapore rounded on him. “You IDIOT!” She hissed.

“What are you doing, gallivanting around wearing that?” She motioned towards his military issued uniform and slouch hat, “Don’t you know there’s a mutiny going on?”

“Mutiny?” Australia’s eyebrows furrowed. “What even-”

“They’ll attack anybody wearing a uniform, you dumb dingo! You have to be more careful!” Singapore turned away momentarily to check if anyone outside had seen Jett. When a mob failed to appear on her doorstep she turned back to him angrily.

“Alex, I-”

“It’s like you’re trying to get killed! What are you even doing dressed like that anyways? _You’re not even_ -”

At that moment Singapore saw the glint of a bayonet strapped to the rifle that Australia was carrying. She saw the sack he was carrying on his back, the slightly baggy fit of the freshly issued military garb he wore, and the sad smile that he was giving her. The realisation dawned on her and all of her former anger leaked out from her feet only to be replaced with shock and sadness.

“No. No, no, no, no, _no_.” Singapore grasped his arm, her eyes pleading for this to be a joke. “Not you too?”

Australia nodded silently.

“Where?”

“Gallipoli. Turkey. Zea’s coming with me too.”

“How long?” Her voice shook as the words left her mouth.

“Who knows? That bloody bastard England won’t tell me. Until this war ends probably.”

Singapore processed this sudden revelation. And then she silently pulled Australia closer, enveloping him in a hug. Her head was barely at his shoulder, and she could feel the cold metal of his rifle biting into her skin. Australia returned the hug, unusually quiet. 

“I wanted to see you again. Just before I left.” Australia explained when they separated.

“Alex.” He placed both hands on her shoulder, suddenly looking very nervous as he stared at Singapore. Singapore tensed under his look but kept quiet.

“Alex, I didn’t… just come here to say goodbye.”

Australia gulped, suddenly feeling very hot. 

“I…”

He could do it. He was going to do it. 

“I… You see, I… Uhhh...”

He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to do it. He was a failure and a disgrace, just like England thought he was.

“Jett, what’s going on?” Singapore asked, concern laced in her words.  “What’s wrong? Is it Zea? Is it you? Tell me!”

God, Australia thought. How could he fall for someone so smart but so oblivious at the same time?

“Alexandria,” He started off slowly, trying to gauge the expressions on her face. “You’re… You’re important to me.”

“You and I, we always had each other’s backs, right? Ever since we were little ankle-biters, we just clicked. We were unstoppable.” Every word he spoke gave him courage, and soon words were barreling out of his mouth faster than he could form sentences in his mind.

“Words can’t describe how much I’ve missed you. I wished I’d seen more of you. I _want_ to see more of you. I want to close this distance between us and go back to the way things were. Everything’s crazy right now, with the war, and Arthur, and all these rules we have to follow, everything’s gone bloody crazy, but we can stay the same.”

Feeling bold, Australia reached up and cupped Singapore’s cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb.

“I want you in my future.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “So after everything's over... After I come back, can I…”

His mouth was drier than a desert and a small part of him hoped Singapore could bring forth the much needed rainfall and quench his thirst.

“Can I be a part of your future too?’

He’s done it. He’s said it. Not explicitly, but it was there, hanging over their heads in the silence like a blaring question mark. Australia’s heart was hammering in his chest like a bird in a cage and for a split-second he was worried that his heart would burst out of his chest.

A myriad of emotions crossed Singapore’s face. But none that he was looking for. Australia’s heart sank.

“Jett.” Her tone created fissures streaking through Australia’s heart.

“Jett, _look at me_.” Singapore said quietly.

Briefly, Australia wondered if the wounds he would sustain in Gallipoli would hurt as much as this. 

“Jett, I… I can’t.”

“Why not?” He let his hand drop to his side.

“This... It's all so sudden! And we’re nations, Jett. We can’t be in a relationship.” 

“Says who?”

“Everyone!” Singapore retorted, exasperated. “It’s not that simple, Jett. Not everything can be solved by going against the rules!”

“Then we’ll keep it a secret!” Australia retaliated, feeling his own anger rise. “It’ll just be us! Us and nobody else. No one will know--”

“Mr England would know.”

“Can you STOP calling him that?” Australia snapped. 

“Why do you keep calling him that?"

"It's respectful!"

"Not to a man who never gave you respect in the first place! You’re always pandering to him and giving him what he wants without question! Do you love him or something?”

Singapore blanched, her skin turning as white as a sheet of paper. Australia noticed the way she froze up and realisation dawned on him. Then anger.

“So that’s why.” He clenched his fist. “You’re in love with him instead.”

“Jett-”

“No, I get it. Of _course_ you would. Of course you would pick the bastard who always leaves you over someone who actually _knows_ you exist. I get it now, Alex.”

“ _You don’t get to_ -”

“Don’t get to what? Don’t get to _what_ , Alex? Don’t get to call you out on your clearly deranged mindset? Don’t get to tell you that you’re making the wrong choice?”

“ _Why?_ Why do you love him? Can’t you see he’s just using you? GOD!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“He’s been using you since the beginning! He’s been using all of us for his own government’s gain! He doesn’t care about us, Alex. He never did! You’re supposed to be smart! You’re supposed to know better! How can someone as smart as you be so - _fucking_ \- stupid?!”

Too late. The moment the words left his mouth he knew it was too late. He clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening.

Singapore jerked backwards, as though she had touched poison. Her eyes widened momentarily, and Australia could see hurt and shock reflecting back in her irises. And then her eyes narrowed, and the hurt in her eyes was gone, only to be replaced with something sharp, fiery, and venomous all at once. 

The fear that washed over Australia like a vengeful wave didn’t make him piss himself, but it was very, very close.

* * *

“Hey, Singapore!” Malaya greeted with a wave, grinning.

“Wow, you look like hell.”

“I just got back.” Singapore muttered, rubbing the heel of her palms into her eyes. Having to run around giving directions to various people to ensure the opening ceremony of the causeway between Singapore and Malaya would run smoothly was stressful enough, but having to see England all morning was worse.

Malaya laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder. “This is quite the party, isn’t it? You did a pretty good job, little sister.” 

“I didn’t think they’d throw such a fancy party for a causeway, but I guess Artie’s got some tricks up his pompous sleeves, huh?” He shot an appreciative look in the direction of a group of well-dressed girls and winked back as they returned his stares with giggly smiles and sheepish waves.

“Why’re you so happy about the causeway anyways? I did most of the paperwork.” Singapore scowled, helping herself to some epok-epok. She hated to admit it, but it was a pretty good party. England knew how to throw a party, she’ll give him that. But nothing else.

“Speaking of Artie,” Malaya nudged her in the side. 

“Do you still have feelings for him? I _promise_ I won’t laugh at your answer.” 

No, she didn’t. Not anymore at least. Not after what happened between her and Australia.

Singapore’s cheeks heated up, but she hid it behind a swig of wine. 

“Shut up.” 

“Come _onnnnn_ , we’re officially neighbours now, we have a causeway between us and everything, if we don’t build up good relations now-”

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” Singapore wriggled free from his grasp and turned away from him.

“I’m leaving now.”

“Wait! Okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Malaya clamped a hand down on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry for teasing you. I didn’t mean it.”

Singapore snorted. “That’s what you always say.”

“Hey, seriously, I didn’t mean it. Actually, I only came to this party because I needed to see you. I had something to tell you.”

“If this is about you and Indonesia making fun of me and Australia’s fight, _I swear to God_ -”

“It’s not! Allah help me, okay,” he looked around to make sure no one was listening in. “Look, I really have important news for you. Can you just listen? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Singapore stared at her brother. Then she nodded, intrigued by Malaya’s rare display of seriousness.

“I’ve been... hearing things from Thailand and China, and it sounds like something bad is going to happen in Europe. Fascism is on the rise, people are getting restless there, there have been more revolts and uprisings--”

“So what? Europe always has a revolt happening from time to time, how is this going to affect me?”

“A lot more than you think, little sister.” A strange expression crossed Malaya’s face. "A lot more than you think."

“There’s a storm brewing, Alexandria. I’ve lived longer than you, I know when something feels wrong, and something definitely feels wrong. Just… be ready for it when it comes.”

Malaya gave her a solemn pat on the shoulder, before leaving as quickly as he had appeared. Singapore furrowed her eyebrows at his retreating figure, then shrugged and went back to downing wine. The Great War had been bad, but it was over now, surely nothing could top that. Right?

Right.

* * *

The year was 1939. Early January.

And everything seemed… fine.

'Fine'. It seemed like the word to describe Singapore’s life right now.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle in Europe, but it wasn’t anything that unusual. A new leader has some views that other countries don’t agree with and they squabble until they get tired. Singapore’s been alive for over 600 years. She knows what happens next, and what happens later on. Nothing surprises her at his point.

Okay, that was a very diluted explanation of what was happening in Europe, but she couldn’t care less. The less she had to do with Europe, and England in general, the better.

Besides, she has other things to focus on now. After their disastrous fight back in 1915, Singapore was more than glad that she managed to patch things up with Australia, and their newly re-forged friendship was growing stronger with every letter they sent to each other. Hong Kong was doing well as a port and taking up a lot of England’s attention nowadays, so good for him. New Zealand had grown up a sensible and mild-mannered individual, just as Singapore predicted.

Everything was fine, and Malaya’s stupid ominous warnings were probably just the paranoid thoughts of a nation who had been living too long.

Singapore set her book down and stretched languidly, yawning. Her secret nook for reading books when the house was too quiet was starting to darken as the sun began to set. It was a cozy place, underneath a towering saga tree that sat on a cliff edge, overlooking the sea. 

She used to sleep here when she was much younger, back when the looming tree was much smaller, back when the concept of houses hadn’t existed to her, back when the only friends she had were the forest and its inhabitants. Singapore loved the tree, and parting with it, though temporarily, felt like separating herself from her other half.

But if she didn’t reach home before sundown Singa would start to get crabby and roll all over her bed and ruin her freshly-cleaned sheets to spite her, and Singapore was most certainly _not_ going to do work on her off-day. With a soft ‘oof’, Singapore picked up her book, arching her back to ease the tension in her bones from leaning against the tree all afternoon, and got up.

_CRASH_

“Shit-! _Ouch_ …” Singapore yelped from the ground where she had fallen, rubbing her forehead in between curses. The person she bumped into muttered something in a language she didn’t recognise, also sprawled on the floor. 

“I’m so sorry sir, it was getting dark and the we were under the tree so I couldn’t see you and-”

“It’s okay.” The person murmured back, starting to get up. "I am fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, thank you for worrying about me but I'm fine."

Singapore got up slowly, wincing slightly. She spotted something vaguely box-shaped and the glint of something reflective on the ground and picked it up.

“Oh! Here’s your camera sir-”

At that moment the sun decided to sit directly on the horizon, casting shades of light pink and orange-yellow over the two of them. Sun or not, Singapore’s cheeks started to turn pink too.

The man in front of her was slim, slimmer than Arthur somehow, with black hair that fell around his face in asymmetrical bangs. His white button-up was slightly dirty after being on the ground, but it framed his body nicely and enhanced his stick-like figure. His eyes were as dark as his hair, but the sun’s rays made the flecks of light brown in his irises stand out. Black eyes were fairly common here, but for some reason Singapore felt drawn to his.

_ (She felt drawn to the rest of him too, but she would never admit this publicly) _

Singapore stuttered something, then upon realising it was totally incoherent, she cleared her throat and shoved the camera back into the man’s hands a little harder than she intended. 

“Um, sorry about your camera.” She said, feeling like a hormonal teenager with her sweaty palms and blushing cheeks.

The man waved her off. “It’s okay. It is not damaged.”

He spoke in an accent she couldn’t quite pinpoint. He was a mysterious man, and the more mysterious he appeared, the more Singapore wanted to find out about him. Curiosity piqued, Singapore decided to take a different approach.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Where are you from?” She asked, nonchalantly picking up her fallen book and dusting it off.

“Japan.” The man replied as he examined his camera.

Now that was interesting. Japan was further away from Singapore, and an island nation too! She vaguely wondered if this man had ever met his nation in person.

“That’s interesting. I’ve never been to Japan. Is it nice there?”

A small smile crossed the man’s face. “Yes. Very.” Unconsciously, Singapore beamed.

“Are you moving to Singapore or-?”

“Oh, no, I am here to take pictures,” he raised his camera. “I’m a photographer, see?”

Ah. That did make more sense.

“Is this your first time in Singapore?”

The man nodded. “Singapore is a very... _interesting_ place. But I have been having trouble finding my way around, the town is bigger than I imagined it to be.”

Without missing a beat, Singapore blurted out, “I can show you around if you want.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “That is very kind of you, but I don’t have a lot of money. I can’t pay you-”

“You don’t have to pay me!” Singapore assured. _Just let me be near you_ , she added silently.

“I’ll show you around, and in exchange you can tell me more about Japan. I'd like to go there some day. Deal?”

The man thought about this for a moment, before shrugging and sticking his hand out.

“Deal.”

Singapore could barely contain her smile as she grabbed hold of the man’s hand and shook it firmly. England could fuck off with his rules, if she wanted to fraternise with humans she’ll damn well do as she pleased.

“My name’s Alexandria. Call me Alex. What’s your name?”

The man’s smile was as sharp as a knife as he replied, “Kiku Honda. But you can call me Kiku.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No historical explanations this time because this is a long-ass chapter. If you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment and I'll be happy to answer! Let's hope the next chapter doesn't take me a million years to update, eh?
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos, comments, and criticisms appreciated. See you soon!


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